


Demons Will Charm You With A Smile

by capeswithhoods



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Skyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 09:39:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capeswithhoods/pseuds/capeswithhoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is there something I ought to know?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Demons Will Charm You With A Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [impassivetemerity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impassivetemerity/gifts).



**Thursday, 11:28**

Every computer, television, tablet, cell phone, and various other electronic devices in MI6 are down, and have been for three minutes. M is having a fit trying to pinpoint the cause, and reaching Q branch is next to impossible now that all communications within the building are out of service.

Everything is working again within another seven minutes, and M's phone rings before he has a chance to make any calls himself.

"Very sorry, M. That was my fault. Trying out something new, didn't think it'd be working yet. On the plus side, it does, so if you ever need--"

M sighs, loudly. "I don't need anything but for that not to happen again, Q. Thank you."

"...Yes, sir," Q responds flatly, though the line goes dead before he finishes speaking.

\------

**Thursday, 21:01**

"Do you know what I think?" James asks, leaning too-casually against Q's desk, earning him the twitch of a frown that isn't entirely genuine.

"No, but I suppose you'll be telling me whether I want to know or not." Long fingers glide across a keyboard and Q doesn't even look up at James as he speaks, eyes focused intently on the screen of his computer. He's still on the clock, technically, but only because he's the department head and can make his own hours.

James allows himself a little smirk because Q does know him so very well. "I think it's high time you put your work down for the evening and got some dinner." And pause for effect. "Preferably with me, though of course that is entirely up to you, my dear Quartermaster."

That gets Q's attention, and his fingers falter for a fraction of a second - no one but James would have noticed - and he continues typing as he thinks about his response. "Give me five minutes." After a moment, he lifts his gaze from the screen to look up at James over the frames of his glasses, deft fingers still moving over the keyboard. "And James, I am not getting in a car with you, so I suggest you adjust any and all plans to include the tube."

\------

**Friday, 01:52**

Q is wide awake, despite being thoroughly physically exhausted thanks to James. He entertains the idea of showering, though he's sure James would insist on joining him, and as appealing as shower sex may be once in a while, Q does actually like to wash up in the shower on occasion.

He opts to stay in bed.

Sweat is cooling slowly on his skin, and when one of James' hands slides across his chest, the warmth radiating from it makes him shiver. "Will you be staying the whole night, then?"

James rolls fully onto his side, pushing himself over so he's flush against Q, all heat and hard muscle, and he leans in to brush his lips over the Quartermaster's neck, speaking against the point of his pulse. "If you'll have me."

There isn't a moment of hesitation before Q says, "Of course I will," and he smiles despite himself as he feels the shape of James' mouth change into a grin against his throat.

\------

**Saturday, 08:34**

James wakes up before Q, which is no small surprise considering James sleeps like shit at best, and even worse when he doesn't have a weapon under his pillow - which is something Q had forbidden nearly a year ago when they'd first started sleeping together. Small sacrifices.

His first order of business is to clean himself up in the bathroom a bit, and he even has the decency to pull on a pair of pants before wandering through Q's flat to make himself some coffee. His phone is on the kitchen counter where he'd left it, and when James picks it up to check his messages, he has three missed calls, as many voicemails, and seven texts from M and Moneypenny.

The first begins with _We have news..._ and as James reads on, his frown grows. The voicemails leave him feeling ill.

As soon as there is enough coffee in the pot, James pulls it off the machine and dumps it into a mug before replacing it and allowing it to continue to brew. Half of the mug is drained, despite the heat of the liquid, then James leans against the counter and stares at his phone for five minutes before putting the kettle on for Q.

\------

**Saturday, 09:00**

When Q wanders out of his bedroom, glasses slipping down his nose, hair still tousled from sleep and sex, James is already dressed and has his tea waiting for him, steeped to perfection and steaming on the counter.

"Morning," Q says, almost a purr as he stretches the sleep from his muscles.

"All electronics in MI6 went offline on Thursday. Including personal devices. You had something to do with it, obviously, though I'm beginning to think it wasn't as innocent as you'd like M to believe," James says quietly, and he's avoiding eye contact, which sets off so many of Q's warning bells and wakes him up more than his cup of tea could ever hope to. "Is there something I ought to know?"

_Yes_ , Q thinks, but it's too late for that now, he's in far too deep and James is not the life-vest he likes to think he is. "No."

James sighs and still won't meet Q's eyes. "All right," he murmurs as he turns away, and there is something in the way he says it that makes Q feel guilty, because this was never meant to happen. There's no way to explain that, though. No way to properly apologise for what he's done.

"...James," Q calls softly, just as the agent reaches the door.

"What is it?" James asks, turning back, though now he finally catches Q's gaze, and the intensity behind his stare makes Q seize up.

Q shakes his head. "I'm sorry." Regret has never been his forte, but he thinks perhaps that he even means it.

\------

**Saturday, 22:59**

James returns quietly, and Q is startled by the sudden appearance of the double-oh in his living room. It's his fault for giving the man a key to his flat, he supposes.

They don't talk for a few moments that feel like lifetimes, until James breaks the silence with a simple question of, "Why?"

"You wouldn't understand," Q replies, looking anywhere but at James.

" _Try me_ ," James practically snarls, but there is a desperate need to understand bleeding through the harsh tone.

Q remains silent for almost too long, then he sighs and shifts his gaze to meet James', which may be a mistake, all things considered.  He's gotten good at those lately, mistakes. "Why does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

Q frowns, agitated and so very _tired_ in every sense of the word. "It _doesn't_ matter, so let it go. What's done is done and it's far too late to take it back now."

James looks furious, though there is a glimmer of something that may be hope behind his eyes. Q thinks that makes this so much worse. They both know how this will end. "Would you, if you could?"

Q shrugs. "Probably."

"Q, this isn't a game."

"Of _course_ it is! I am a _child_ in M's eyes. Despite my accomplishments, despite everything I've contributed, he and the rest of the MI6 still see me as a child in need of a babysitter," Q spits, hands balled into shaking fists at his sides, and he'd told himself he wouldn't get like this, no matter what. So much for dignity.

James' eyes narrow. "You certainly are acting like one."

"You don't _get_ it! You're as bad as the rest of the uptight _dolts_ who work with you."

James frowns, and despite his best efforts to shut himself down, Q can see the hurt in his eyes. It twists in him like a knife. "Yes, of course I am. You're completely right about me. How _ever did you figure me out_?"

"James, I didn't mean..."

"Of course you did."

And James is gone, the door to his flat slamming, followed by heavy footfalls echoing down the hallway before Q has the chance to reply, not that words are on his side at the moment anyhow.

"Shit."

\------

**Sunday, 00:05**

If he were smart, he'd have left, but Q is still in his flat, listening to the faint ticking of his clock, and he wonders what is going to happen to him. He wonders if he'll be taken prisoner, and decides that if he is, he'll bite his tongue in half once he's in custody.

He is not built for confinement, especially not for life, and with the charges he's sure he's facing, the only other sentence M would give him is death.

He hears footfalls in the hallway again, and he supposes he'll be getting the answer to his question. Q is undecided on whether he likes this solution when James pushes the door open and stands there staring at him like he can't believe Q is still there and wishes he wasn't.

"You know why I'm here," James says, and his voice is raw with cigarette smoke and emotion.

Q hates himself as he nods. "I do."

There is a moment of hesitation before James pulls his gun out - one Q branch has never touched - and he aims it squarely at Q's head. He swallows hard, and exhales shakily. "I trusted you," he says, and the words are wrapped in barbs of betrayal. It's the closest James has ever come to telling Q that he loves him. No wonder.

"I know. And I know you won't believe me, but this wasn't what was supposed to happen." Q pauses and blinks a few times to try and push back the tears threatening to rise in his eyes. "It was never my intention to betray MI6." He pauses again to draw a breath that very well may be his last, and he doesn't - or _can't_ \- tear his eyes away from the one person who really mattered. "Nor to hurt you, James."

James tightens his finger on the trigger and the sound of the shot echoes too-loudly off the walls. He is gone in the next instant, running down the stairs to the car that is waiting for him at the curb.

The agent driving him has James home in a matter of minutes, where he immediately pours himself a glass of scotch once his door is locked behind him. The drink is gone almost as quickly as he'd poured it and James doesn't hesitate to repeat the process.

There is not enough alcohol in the world to drown his sorrows.


End file.
